


Heaven and Hell

by fabuloustrix



Category: Glee, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabuloustrix/pseuds/fabuloustrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean roll up to successful performer Blaine Anderson's house to help with a ghost problem sometime in the midst of Supernatural Season 3. Dean, as such, is feeling vulnerable. Mature content ensues. That's really all there is to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven and Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chrisney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisney/gifts).



> Warning for past character death in the Glee fandom. Blatant, ridiculous crack!fic for fans of kooky crossovers. Written on a late-night dare.

“You sure this is the place?” asked Dean, slamming the Impala’s driver-side door shut with a creak. 

“Yes Dean, I told you a thousand times,” said Sam. 

“Yeah yeah. Who is this again? It’s Cooper’s brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Never woulda guessed that guy came outta Ohio,” Dean said, ringing the doorbell.

“Yeeeah.”

“Still. Nice digs.”

“Nicer than we’re used to,” Sam said just before the large oak door opened. 

“Hi,” said a young man, smiling openly. “You must be the Winchesters.”

“Yup, that’s us,” said Dean, pressing his lips together in an awkward smile.

“I’m Blaine,” he said. “Please, come in.”

They did, nodding, hands in pockets. They looked around, unused to such high class. The ceiling in the foyer was vaulted to accommodate a chandelier, the floors were shinier even than their dad had ever kept the Impala, and all the walls were painted in various modern, warm tones of blue.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Did you have a long drive?” 

“Beer’d be great,” said Dean, exchanging a look with Sam.

“Coffee,” said Sam. “And no. Well, not longer than we’re used to.”

Blaine blinked. “Good,” he said, “come on through to the dining room so we can talk.” 

Exchanging another look, the brothers followed.

“So,” said Dean, taking in the impeccable black-and-white decoration as they passed through the kitchen. “Cooper said it was urgent? Don’t take offense but you seem pretty comfortable…”

“Ah,” said Blaine. “Well it only happens at night. So we’re safe at the moment. But in my inexperienced opinion, that doesn’t mean it’s not urgent.”

“Why don’t you tell us exactly what the problem is,” said Sam.

Blaine took a deep breath. “Well,” he began, looking at the table cloth, “it started about a week ago. Well, no. It started about three years ago,” he said, fiddling with a chain around his neck. “Um. Well things would move. Not in a violent way. They just would. And I guess, slowly enough that I didn’t notice, whatever it is got stronger. Then about a week ago it started getting bad. Knives would come flying out of drawers, glass would break. But it wasn’t until two nights ago that it started aiming for me.”

At this point he pulled up the sleeve of his baby blue sweater to show a bandage on his forearm. 

“Twelve stitches,” he said, running a finger along white gauze. “To the bone in a few places.”

“Wow,” said Sam.

Dean whistled. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“…yeah,” said Blaine. “Anyway, Cooper said he knew some guys who could help and here you are.”

“Here we are,” confirmed Dean. “We’ll take care of it,” he said, flashing a smile that was more sincere than he meant it to be. Blaine smiled back. Dean looked away.

“So,” said Sam. “We can research it ourselves, but can you tell us anything about the history of the house? Do you know of anybody who’s died here, or…”

Blaine looked down at his hands. “Yes,” he said. “I do. Um…there was a…uh.” He cleared his throat. “Just before I moved in, a man was murdered here. It…it was awful. Or so I heard,” he said, looking back up at them.

“Great,” said Dean brightly. Sam shot him a glare. “I mean terrible,” he corrected. “It, yes. That’s very horrible. But it’s a good starting point. You wouldn’t have a name for us?”

“Um,” said Blaine. “I think it was Kurt Hummel?” 

“Perfect,” said Sam. “We’ll go look into it.”

 

Four hours later, Dean was glancing at the sunset as he rang Blaine’s doorbell for the second time, wondering, bemused, why he’d volunteered for this half of the job.

Blaine opened the door, looking considerably less at ease than he had earlier. “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?” he asked, letting Dean into the house.

Dean was momentarily wrong-footed. “Well, yeah but it’s just about over. You can go somewhere for the night. Sam’s on his way to the cemetery to finish it, and I’ll be here to make sure the job gets done.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Blaine.

“What?” said Dean.

“I’m staying right here,” he said, crossing his arms.

“What, why? You’re gonna get yourself hurt, kid. Again.”

“Because it’s my house, it’s my life, and I want to be sure the job gets done just as much as – more than – you do,” Blaine said. “And I’m not a kid,” he finished, eyes narrowed.

Dean shook his head as he walked away. “Suit yourself,” he grumbled.

Blaine followed. “What are you doing?”

“A sweep, to make sure it hasn’t started up yet. Don’t wanna be caught by surprise. If that’s alright with your highness,” he said.

Blaine snorted. “I was just asking. Touchy.”

“Well, yeah, I am a bit touchy because now, in addition to an angry ghost I have a very persistent civilian whose back I gotta watch,” Dean said, turning around to face Blaine.

“I’m not useless, you know,” said Blaine, hurt and defensive at once.

“I wasn’t – I didn’t mean that,” said Dean. “But it already fucked you up once. You’re not scared it’s gonna do it again, maybe worse this time?”

“Well no,” said Blaine. “That’s what you’re here for.” They locked eyes. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Dean dismissively, breaking eye contact. “Yeah, it is.”

As they turned into another hallway, a door burst open and a cloud of weapons came crashing out. Axes, swords, and ninja stars all came hurtling toward them, clashing against each other as they came.

Dean turned and shoved Blaine into a run, shouting over the din, “Why the hell do you have those?!”

Blaine said nothing as they sprinted back down the hall and dodged into a room, slamming the door behind them.

Blaine grabbed Dean’s hand and squeezed it as hard as his eyes were shut. It happened in an instant, and it wasn’t a gesture that necessarily meant anything, but Dean found he was having a hard time not reacting violently. He wasn’t sure, if he let himself, what this violent reaction might be. It sent a creeping fear right to the juncture where skull and spine met. He didn’t have time for this.

“Blaine,” he said. Blaine didn’t respond. “Blaine! Look at me. Look! I need your eyes open. I got your back, but you gotta have mine too, okay? Okay?”

There was a pause, but Blaine nodded. Dean held eye contact for a moment longer, searching, trying to burn the importance of alertness into Blaine’s mind, trying not to register with minute detail the patterns in his irises. He listened as the flurry of weaponry passed. Then,

“Okay. Come on,” he said, “we gotta get to the kitchen. You’ve got salt, right?”

“Are there people who don’t?”

“You’d be surprised,” Dean deadpanned, setting off down the hall.

 

Bolted and salted into Blaine’s windowless dining room, they paused.

“We’re okay now, right?” Blaine asked. “It can’t get us in here?”

“Yeah we’re good,” said Dean, double-checking the lines of tiny white crystals that were now the only barrier between them and painful death.

“So we just…wait?” asked Blaine. “There’s nothing we can do?”

“What, like fight it? Sam’s taking care of it. This is actually our job, you know.”

“Actually no,” said Blaine. “I meant like help it. You said he’s burning his bones. That has to hurt, right? He wasn’t always out for blood. You said he…it used to just be a person like you or me. There must be something…”

Dean just looked at him. This guy, this kid had no idea what he was talking about. He wasn’t much younger in terms of years walking the earth, but measured in paths walked and horrors seen, he was a child. He was naïve, and doe-eyed, and more than a little bit right. 

“No,” he finally said. “No, there’s nothing you can do. I’m guessing there’s something you don’t want to tell me about this particular nasty but I’m also guessing at what it might be you don’t want to tell. I’m sorry, kid. Your…he’s gone. A long time gone. Whatever bad thing happened to him made him like this, and there’s nothing left of him here. You’re right, it won’t be pretty while it’s happening but we figure….We’ve been at this a long time. And we figure that after? It’s peaceful. And that’s the best we can do. Maybe it’s just our way of living with the job. I don’t know. But there’s nothing else.”

Blaine’s brown eyes were too earnest and glassy.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said again, turning around under the guise of checking the other door. 

“It’s okay,” Blaine said thickly, “I kind of knew. I just had to ask.”

Dean glanced at him and nodded before sitting down against the far wall, one arm propped on a knee, the other resting atop his shotgun.

“So we wait,” said Blaine, eyes on the gun.

Dean nodded. “We wait.”

 

A few hours later, Blaine had moved to sit next to Dean on the floor. Blaine was talking about his childhood and his career, how performing made him feel, and which cookies he liked best. Dean would sometimes be goaded into telling some old war story, but none that hit too close to home. 

“Yeah,” Dean was laughing, “I guess it is pretty funny in retrospect. I still hate planes though.”

“I would too,” said Blaine. “But not if you were with me.”

Dean snapped his head around to look at him.

“I mean. Okay that sounded goofy, but it’s true. If you were there, there wouldn’t be anything to be afraid of. You just told me, you and Sam saved everyone. I just – ”

Dean’s phone rang.

“Yeah,” he answered, trying to keep his voice sufficiently gruff.

“I’m here,” Sam said. “This is a huge-ass cemetery, Dean. I could be at this all night.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Yeah. You guys are alright though?”

“Yeah we’re holed up tight in the dining room.” For some reason he cringed at his choice of words. “No reason we shouldn’t be safe and sound till morning if you can’t find the grave.”

“Good.”

“That’s not an invitation though, dude. Hurry it up.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sit tight, I’ll keep you posted.”

“Yeah.”

“Bad news?” Blaine asked as Dean closed his phone.

“Not terrible. Just a lot of ground to cover. It’s gonna take him a while.”

“Oh,” said Blaine, looking down and grinning. “That’s not so bad.”

Dean gave him an incredulous look. “You’re trapped in a dining room with a condiment guarding you from a bloodthirsty ghost. Indefinitely. That’s not so bad?”

“Like I was saying,” Blaine said, and Dean suddenly wondered when their faces had gotten so close together. “I feel safe.”

Blaine closed the distance, pressing his lips softly against Dean’s and then pulling away. Dean didn’t move, couldn’t move. He just stared. “Uh…”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said. “I couldn’t help it.” He paused. “Actually, I’m not sorry. I’m going to kiss you again.”

The last words were said so close to Dean’s mouth that he could feel Blaine’s lips moving, feather-light. He was trying to figure out what to say when those lips closed over his, which phrase to blurt when Blaine’s tongue licked his mouth open, whoa I’m not like that, I don’t like guys, what are you doing, we can’t do this here, I’m sorry I only have six months to live before demon hounds drag me to Hell, but then Blaine’s hand was resting against his waist, and he was pulling himself closer so their sides met from shoulder to hip, Blaine’s leg in Dean’s lap, heat beginning to build in his blood and Dean finally broke away just to gasp for air. He thought maybe that moment would have presented the opportunity he was looking for to stop this, but then Blaine was sucking kisses down Dean’s neck and Dean was shutting his eyes hard against the way it felt like his entire world was tilting on its side.

“I…” he managed, stopping himself before the sound could turn into a moan.

“What?” Blaine whispered against his neck. “What is it?”

Dean just shook his head, breathing hard.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Blaine was in Dean’s lap, straddling him, crushing their mouths together once more before he even realized he’d nodded yes. He shivered as Blaine’s hands found their way under his shirt, caressing his chest and stomach, pulling him closer still.

And then Blaine was pressing his weight down and Dean realized he was hard as fuck and so was Blaine and the fact that he knew that was scary in an entirely new way. And it felt better than he could remember feeling in months, if not years. Almost before he’d registered it, he’d wrapped his arms around Blaine and launched forward, pinning him to the ground. He pulled at his shirt, wanting to feel Blaine’s muscles move under his skin, wanting as much of their bodies to touch as possible as he explored the wet  
warmth of his mouth.

It was jarring how much it wasn’t like kissing girls. But right now, Dean thought it might be even better. Blaine’s jaw was sharp, his stomach was unyielding, his hands were rough in Dean’s hair and on his back. Dean pulled no punches, sucking on Blaine’s tongue, biting his bottom lip, anything to get Blaine to react, to make just one more ridiculously dirty sound. Their hips were flush and Dean tentatively moved his, searching for friction. Blaine moaned into his mouth.

“Come on,” he said breathlessly, plaintively, “Dean…”

When Dean responded with another careful movement Blaine huffed in frustration and rolled them over, using his advantage to grind mercilessly against Dean’s hips. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, and he slipped his hand beneath Blaine’s waistband to grip his ass. They both groaned and Blaine pulled back slightly to work furiously at Dean’s zipper. He yanked Dean’s pants down, and then his boxer briefs until Dean’s hard and leaking cock was in his hand and he was pumping it agonizingly slowly.

“Ah,” Dean moaned, panting. “You, too.”

Blaine fumbled his own jeans down and then their cocks were sliding against each other, gloriously hot and slick, and Dean was grunting slightly with each desperate thrust upward.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “ _Fuck._ ” 

Blaine was fucking his mouth with his tongue, gripping Dean’s hips for more leverage, and then Dean’s brain shut down. Blaine wrapped his hand around both their cocks, stripping them together in time with their thrusts, and Dean was coming so hard his lungs stopped functioning for a good ten seconds while Blaine cried out and stroked them through the aftershocks.

Cognizant again, Dean found Blaine was tugging a napkin off the table and using it to clean them off. He half-heartedly tried to help before giving up and just laying there, sprawled out and debauched on the dining room floor. 

“Well that was awesome,” Blaine said as he curled lazily into Dean’s side.

“Yeah,” Dean said. And once he’d processed what he’d just said, he found it was true.

A few hours later, Dean was startled awake by an extremely familiar guitar riff. He fumbled around in the dark for his phone only to discover that his jeans were not on his body but about a foot to the right of it. He tried to bring his left arm over to help in the search but it seemed to be pinned to the floor by something heavy and warm. Realization dawned as he finally answered.

“Hello?” he said, voice rough.

“Hey I – are you alright?” came Sam’s voice from the other end.

“Yeah yeah, what’s the status?”

“Job’s done,” Sam said. “Are you sure everything’s okay? You sound really weird right now.”

“Everything’s fine, jackass, I’ll do a final sweep. When are you picking me up?”

“Um…in…like…thirty?” Sam said. “Unless you need more time to, uh, finish…up. There.”

“I – no,” Dean said, starting to feel a strange mania rise in his chest.

Sam chuckled down the line. “Whatever you need, Dean, I’m serious. I can go get a burger or something if –”

“I will kill you,” said Dean, before hanging up. He was breathing very hard and fast now, feeling like if he couldn’t get his arm back and run very fast, away, he might explode.

Blaine chose that moment to wake up. 

“Nnnggmmmm,” he said, slowly stretching into Dean’s side. Dean tried to control his breathing. “Who are you going to kill?”

“Nobody,” Dean said. “Sam says job’s done. Gotta check the house.”

Blaine snapped his head up to look at him, but it was too dark. He got up and switched on the light. 

Dean started to get up, not meeting his eyes. He wanted this moment to go away. He wanted to block this entire night from his memory without even really knowing why. But then suddenly he was being hauled up by his arm and shoved against a wall.

“Uh-uh,” Blaine was saying, right into his face. “You’re not gonna do that. You’re not gonna be that guy.”

Dean just stared, wide-eyed.

“You’re not gonna have some hetero freakout over one of the best nights of your stupid life. You’re Dean Winchester. The only person whose opinion matters to you is your highly educated little brother who will idolize you no matter what. You fight monsters.” Blaine kissed him, hard and deep. “And you loved every minute.” 

As he kissed him again, Dean felt his body going pliant.

“Admit it,” Blain said, into his mouth, before nipping his bottom lip.

“Admit what,” Dean said, kiss-drunk.

“You loved every second of gay sex with me,” he said, leaning back out of range as Dean went for his mouth again. Dean huffed.

“What do you even have to lose?” Blaine asked, looking him in the eye.

After a moment, Dean let his forehead rest on Blaine’s shoulder. He let out a long breath.

“Nothing,” he said. “Absolutely nothing.”

Blaine pulled his head back up again and kissed him softly.

“Then admit it,” he said. “To me, to you. Admit it.”

“Yeah,” said Dean, closing his eyes as their lips met. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Sam was leaning against the passenger side of the Impala when Dean came out of the door. He waved past at Blaine, leaning against the doorframe of the house, before tossing the keys to Dean. They both got in, and Dean only looked back once as they drove away. 

“So, you get his number?” Sam asked after a moment.

“No?” Dean said, eyes on the road. “He has ours. We don’t exactly do monthly checkups.”

“Holy crap,” Sam said.

“What.”

“Holy…crap.”

“Stop,” Dean said.

“You actually boned that guy,” said Sam.

“Sam,” warned Dean.

“You totally boned him, holy crap, Dean, I can’t believe you weren’t even gonna say anything.”

“Yeah well what was I gonna say,” Dean said, giving up. “Just in time for the big bad dog-a-thon at the end of the year, I figured out I’ve been missing out on the pleasures of half the population? You gonna throw me a parade?”

“I don’t think they throw parades for things people already know,” Sam said.

“Screw you,” said Dean.

“I’m kidding, jeez, sorry,” Sam said. “I guess…I’m…proud of you?”

“No seriously, stop.”

Sam was silent for a long moment.

“Soooo….” He said. “How was it?”


End file.
